


This Form I Hold Now

by micehell



Series: Dis Manibus [3]
Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: A tiny bit kinky, Angst, Drama, M/M, hints of past nastiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-24
Updated: 2009-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deegan had pulled Arthur aside when he'd brought Curt home.  "It was a bad one," was all he'd said, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Form I Hold Now

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Tool ( _Parabol_ ).

Deegan had pulled Arthur aside when he'd brought Curt home. "It was a bad one," was all he'd said, though.

Arthur hadn't really needed Deegan's words to tell that. Curt was blank, seemingly devoid of all emotion as he walked around their house, looking at things as if he'd never seen them. A blank Curt was an extremely unhappy Curt, and Arthur's fingers twitched with the need to make it better. But two years of living together had taught Arthur that breaking the silence before Curt was ready was just asking to get nowhere.

He cleaned instead. Curt wasn't really a slob, but he liked a bit of clutter, uncomfortable in environments that were too clean and sterile. It was only when Curt was like this that Arthur could get things really tidy, the way the little yuppie in his head sometimes wished life could be.

Like it was a fresh slate to write itself against, the clean house drew Curt's anger out. "Would you stop goddamn cleaning already! It's fucking enough. We have plates in the kitchen, so there's no need to make the floor clean enough to eat off of."

The first time they'd had this argument, Arthur had been hurt and defensive, and had backed off to lick his own wounds in quiet. It was only after, with Curt's tearful apology, and the confused, nearly incoherent explanation that came with it, that Arthur had understood what Curt had wanted him to do.

It wasn't something Arthur could give him, really. He loved Curt too much, and recoiled too much at the thought of hurting anyone to ever really punish Curt like he wanted, but Arthur had learned to work around it. Learned to drive out the pain with something that wasn't just more pain.

Curt was expecting it, though, would resist, would try to turn things into what he thought he needed, so Arthur had to distract him for a while, just enough that he forgot to be wary. "Well if you'd do your share of the cleaning every once in a while, I wouldn't have to do so much, would I?"

Since Curt actually tended to be home more than Arthur, he did the majority of the housework, and there were few things more likely to set him off than _Arthur_ accusing of him of something that wasn't true. Knowing that Curt was used to it from others, and hardly batted an eye at the obviously ridiculous accounts that occasionally got published about him, it made Arthur feel a twin stab of love and pain that Curt couldn't take it from him, his eyes going wide at the jab.

"Fuck you, Arthur. Just because I don't starch the drapes or put doilies on the coffee table like the prissy old lady you secretly are wants to, doesn't mean I don't do my share."

Arthur frowned at the prissy old lady remark. That had hurt, partly because there was a tiny grain of truth in it, and it sucked to live with someone who had a killer eye for seeing the foibles in everyone, himself included. Arthur wondered if it was something he'd always had, or if it was another thing Curt had picked up when he'd died.

But that was just Arthur being distracted, and the whole point was to get Curt to the point where he wasn't expecting the attack. "I don't want to have this argument. Again. So I'm just going to go out for a while, and maybe when I get back, you'll have your head out of your ass enough to be civil."

The look of hurt was hidden quickly, but Arthur had to bite back the apology all the same. In a lot of ways, this was worse than giving Curt what he wanted, a hurt that wouldn't leave marks, but damaged all the same. But Curt would understand in a little while; would forgive him always, even if that hadn't been true.

Arthur went into the bedroom, making enough noise to sound like he was getting ready to leave, pulling out the padded cuffs he kept hidden in the plaid jacket that Curt hated so much he'd never even think of borrowing it. It was just a matter of counting down, then, knowing that Curt would come after him, unable to just let him go.

Curt had still been suspicious enough that he entered their bedroom cautiously, but he hadn't thought to look behind the door, and Arthur had a couple of inches and about twenty pounds on him. He had him down on the bed in no time flat, hands cuffed above his head.

The first time Arthur had done this, he'd used a tie, but that had just caused Curt to panic, too close to a memory that he wouldn't share, and Arthur had learned to work around it. One of the things that made loving Curt hard was the hidden obstacles that Curt never seemed able to define for him, and would rarely share the reasons for.

The handcuffs didn't seem to trigger the same reaction, just anger at first. Arthur had been thankful the first time he'd used them that he'd thought to buy the padded ones, because Curt fought them, and it was a good thing they'd moved out of Curt's apartment after they officially started living together, because the bed was creaking under the force of Curt's struggle, the headboard bouncing against the wall with each tug.

It was rhythmic, the squeak of the bed, the bounce against the wall, and Arthur almost laughed at what it reminded him of. He held it back, though, knowing Curt wasn't in the right mood to laugh at it right now. Later, when he was Arthur's Curt again, then he probably would.

But Arthur had to get him there first, and it meant he had to wait. Wait until Curt finally stopped struggling, dropping back on the bed in weary resignation. He wouldn't look at Arthur then; face turned away, body closed off.

But that was the sign that Arthur needed. He'd seen it before, too many times for comfort, but a comfort all the same, because _now_ , now he could touch.

He moved slowly, always slowly. Not a man approaching a wounded animal, though there was certainly an element of that. It was just that slow was the last thing that Curt wanted right now, and just what he needed.

As were the gentle hands Arthur used to comb through Curt's hair, wild from the fight. He rubbed small circles against Curt's scalp, comforting, but not minding when Curt pulled his head away. It wasn't like it was ever going to be that easy.

He undressed himself, still slow, but efficient, nothing of this meant to be a show. He always went first, making sure to give Curt the edge of not being naked while someone else was clothed.

Then he straddled Curt, loving the way that felt even now, even like this, everything about Curt feeling good no matter what they did. He didn't try to kiss him yet, letting him keep his head turned as he unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it as far up Curt's arms as the cuffs would allow. Then he went to work on the pants and shoes, steadily, surely, taking away all the barriers except those Curt held onto tightly.

Still on top of Curt, he reached into the bedside table, grabbing out the lube. Sometimes they didn't use it, letting spit work instead, but today wasn't that kind of day, that kind of need. This wasn't spontaneous _I have to have you now or I'll die_ sex. This was _I have to have you always or I wouldn't know who I was_.

It wasn't until Arthur pushed one slick finger into him that Curt finally broke, tried to push down onto it, tried to take it fast instead of slow. "Please, Arthur. Please… just once… just do it."

Arthur cringed at the need in Curt's voice. He hated to hear him beg, hated to not give him what he wanted. Hated the fact that the thought of pushing into Curt dry, of taking what he wanted without thought to the consequence, wasn't as repellent as Arthur wished it could be, not with Curt beneath him, writhing with need.

He bit his lip, riding out Curt's bucking against him, keeping his hands soft and steady as he coaxed Curt's body into giving up what Curt wanted stolen.

When Arthur was ready, his world reduced to how Curt felt around him, to how he felt about Curt, he finally started to give the movement Curt was begging for. Deep, sharp thrusts that set the bed to squeaking again, the headboard to its steady thump, but now Arthur didn't feel like laughing, far too busy trying to bury himself in Curt, trying to dig his way under his skin, to have every part of Curt that he could.

Curt finally broke then, pushing back into his thrusts, hands struggling against the cuffs as he tried to touch, tried to hold on. "Please, Arthur, more. Make me forget. Make me forget."

Arthur wished he could. Wished he could take whatever memory it was that drove Curt to this, that Curt seemed to want literally cut out of him. But all he did was give Curt what he could; fingerprint bruises that were a mark of his passion, red swollen lips that were a sign of his love.

He usually came first when they did this, the feel of Curt under him, around him, a pleasure so intense that Arthur had to struggle not to come at once. But this time it was Curt who came first, face slack with pleasure, slurred nonsense falling from his lips, only _please_ and _so good_ and _Arthur_ sounding clear.

There was no way Arthur could last against that, the sound of his name alone enough to drive him over. He shuddered against Curt, holding on tightly as he came apart and slowly, slowly reformed again.

Curt didn't even shake out his hands when they were released, embracing Arthur tightly, his head crooked around Arthur's neck, lips against his ear as he whispered, "Sorry. Sorry," until Arthur stopped him with a kiss.

He didn't need to hear the apology, anymore than Curt would want one from him. There was nothing between them that needed to be forgiven, nothing _between_ them at all.

/story


End file.
